


Mind of a Trickster

by cutelittlekitty



Series: Heavenly Body [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU-modern setting, Anal Stimulation, Bottom!Gabriel, Karaoke, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, Top!Sam, blowjob, infidelity-sam cheats on his girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutelittlekitty/pseuds/cutelittlekitty
Summary: "You laugh, but it's true.  I go home with someone, or someones, new every night.  Variety is the spice and all that," Gabe grins."Not to toot your own horn or anything, right?""Hey, the point of hooking up every night is so Idon'thave to toot my own horn," Gabe smirks, sticking his tongue out in a salacious way that has Sam's jeans feeling tight again."And who do you plan on hooking up with tonight?"Gabe gives Sam a pointed look, licking his lips in a predatory way that has Sam's blood heating for no reason he can name.





	Mind of a Trickster

**Author's Note:**

> this story goes over the time at the bar from the previous fic, but this time from Sam's and Gabe's pov, so don't skip over it even though some will sound the same; it fills in what sam and gabe were doing while dean was distracted with cas and Charlie.

Sam closes the box, puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket and zips it closed. There's no way he's leaving it in his hotel room, not even in the safe. It was stupid to bring it with him, but if he'd left it in his dorm he'd spend the whole trip worrying about it, and besides, he wants to get Dean's input. He should hang his clothes up before he goes out, but it's not like anything will wrinkle, or will look bad if it does. More like seeing his packed luggage sitting open on the dresser is too reminiscent of childhood; living out of suitcases, never being able to take much with him as they bounced from town to town living out of cheap motels, small, run-down houses or apartments, rented by the week. Their dad had been a wreck, and Sam hadn't been surprised when he'd died in one. It just sucks that Ellen's husband, Bill, had been in the car with him at the time.

But Sam is not a kid anymore, and this is not a cheap motel; it's a respectable hotel with clean linens, no bedbugs, a couch, tv, and minibar. Besides, Sam is working on making a home for himself in California. General studies will be finished in a few weeks, and next semester he'll be entering into Stanford's law program on a full scholarship. His job at the bar pays enough that he hasn't had to take out student loans. And hopefully, after he gets back, Jess will let them take one step closer to his middle-class dream of a house, two cars, a wife and kids, tv in every room, 2.5 pets or whatever, the works. And when he has kids, they will be raised in stability by two loving parents, not jumping from school to school, one raised for a few years by mom then left to basically raise himself and his little brother under the stern eye of a drunk of a dad. Not that Sam feels short changed, he's just always known how unfair it was that Dean did everything he could to give him as good a childhood as possible, at the expense of his own. But that's the future. Back here in the present, he needs to get going or he'll be late meeting Dean

It's not his habit to hang out in gay bars, but he's comfortable enough with himself to not be bothered by it when Dean suggested meeting up at some place he likes, the Blue Diamond. He pulls his rented Dodge Charger into the parking lot and looks for a spot, hoping the car will be safe. Dean says this isn't the worst part of town, and Sam knows it's a bit better than where the Roadhouse is, and the rental isn't new; it's a 2006, but it's shiny and black and rust-free which makes it stand out a bit from the other cars in the lot. At least, until he reaches the furthest spot from the door, where there's a shiny, new, red Corvette convertible. Since the spot next to it is free, Sam pulls in, figuring if anyone's gonna steal a car for a joyride they'd take the Vette.

When he walks in he sees his brother right away, sitting at the bar apparently joking with the bartender. He waves a hand in front of Dean's face to get his attention. "Earth to Dean," Sam says, grinning at him.

"Sammy!" Dean says, setting his beer down, jumping up and giving his big little brother a hug.

"I told you not to call me that, Dean, I'm not a kid anymore. And are you alright?" he adds, feeling Dean's forehead as though checking for a fever. "Been replaced by a clone? Since when are you a hugger?"

"Hey, I may not be a hugger, but you are. Figured I should preempt you."

"Yeah, sure," Sam chuckles, though he casts a surreptitious look at Dean from the corner of his eyes as he sits at the bar and says "Hey, bartender, can I get a beer here?"

"Sure thing, sexy, what kind you want?" Gabe asks with a predatory grin.

"Whatever's on tap."

"Hmm, for you, I got somethin better than beer if you don't mind drinkin' it direct from the tap."

"Dude! No! Gabe, that's my brother!" Dean shouts.

Gabe looks back and forth between Sam and Dean, eyebrows raised. "Really? You two? Brothers? You don't look alike at all. Guess tall, hot, and dreamy here got all the good genes." Sam rolls his eyes at the obvious attempt to pick him up, wondering how well his brother knows this guy with his longish brown hair, twinkling hazel eyes, and impish grin.

"Gabe," Dean warns.

"Ok, ok, don't get your panties in a bunch," says Gabe as he pours Sam's beer and hands it to him. "On the house, in apology for my shameless flirting."

"Thanks," Sam chuckles, "and you're welcome to flirt all you want; I'm taken."

"Bathroom," Dean blurts out before heading quickly for the hallway that leads to the restrooms. Sam watches his brother run off with a raised eyebrow, then Gabe draws his attention back.

"I don't see a ring?" Gabe comments, tracing a finger over Sam's left hand.

Grinning sheepishly, Sam glances to make sure Dean is gone, then pulls the black velvet box from his inside pocket, opens it and shows the bartender. "I'm going to ask her when I get back."

Gabe whistles. "Nice rock. Hope she's worth it."

"She is," Sam smiles, closing the box and zipping it back in his pocket as Gabe is called away to make a couple Bloody Marys and a soda.

"So, she ever let you do her up the ass?" Gabe whispers covertly when he gets back as he leans over the bar 'til their faces are inches apart.

Sam feels his cheeks warming in embarrassment. "That's not- You- I'm not telling you that," he stutters.

"Oh, so she has?" Gabe grins as Sam goes a few shades darker, confirming it. "Ever put a finger in you, stimulating your prostate while swallowing you down so deep you can feel her throat closing tight around your head and let you come down her throat?" he asks, wriggling his eyebrows.

"I am _so_ not talking to you about this," Sam says, squirming on his stool as his jeans suddenly feel a bit too tight.

Gabe laughs and it lights up his face. "Hey, you said I could flirt."

"That's not flirting, that's... pornographic."

"Hey, nothin' wrong with a bit of porn when it's all good fun, right?" Gabe laughs, then sees someone waving out of the corner of his eye and sighs. Turning to look, he creases his brows as he sees it's Dean. "Be right back, babe" he says, surreptitiously sliding a hand over Sam's as he heads over to see what Dean wants.

"Hey, can you ask Sammy to bring my coat and drink over here?" Dean asks when Gabe is close enough to hear the quiet murmur.

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Gabe. Please?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." he says, and goes back over to Sam. "He wants you to move over there I guess," Gabe says, nodding toward the end of the bar.

"Think he's trying to remove me from your corrupting influence?" Sam teases.

"Dunno, you'd have to ask him," Gabe replies with a shrug, putting Sam's empty glass in the sink and pouring him a new one while Sam grabs Dean's coat and heads over. Gabe follows, grabbing Dean's half-finished beer on the way and setting it in front of him, then handing the fresh beer to Sam.

"Why the seat change?" Sam asks as he hands Dean his leather jacket.

"Too noisy over there," Dean replies, though there's not much difference in sound level here. Gabe gives him a suspicious look but doesn't say anything. "So what were you two talking about?"

Sam sputters into his beer and Gabe thumps him on the back. "Nothing," he says when he's able to talk, looking away at the guy singing 'Hurt So Good' by John Mellencamp, trying to hide his blush from Dean. Then the song ends and the dj goes on stage and calls Sam Winchester up. Most people only give a first name, but he doesn't say Sam, he says Sam Winchester, which means Dean must have signed him up before Sam got here. "What the fuck, Dean?" Sam demands, turning accusingly on his brother.

Dean shrugs. "I wanted to hear you sing. C'mon, everyone else is doin' it. Don't keep your adoring public waiting," he teases pushing Sam off his stool and toward the mic as the dj calls his name again. 

Sam gives Dean a hard glare, but goes up to the mic anyway, groaning as the beginning of 'Piano Man' by Billy Joel starts to play. Of all the cliché karaoke songs to pick, geeze. Over the intro he says "Fuck you, Dean," and flips him the bird, but starts to sing on cue anyway. It comes out a little flat but at least his voice is clear and steady. Singing has never been his forte though he used to belt out classic rock tunes in the car with Dean when they were alone, or when their dad wasn't too drunk or hung over for it to bother him.

After the song he heads back to the bar as the dj goes to the mic and calls Dean up next. Smirking at his brother as they pass, he sits on his stool and turns to watch.

Dean sings Kansas's 'Carry on Wayward Son', one of his favorites; no crappy cliché songs for him. He pretty much nails it too. Then he runs off the stage before the song's even done, to a booth in the corner that Sam can't see from here. 

"Hey, Gabe, has Dean seemed... off to you lately?"

"Wish I could tell you, little bro, but he hasn't been in in months. Well, I guess that in itself is a bit unusual. Actually, I think the last time he was here was when he hooked up with the guy in that booth. I suspected maybe he'd gotten himself a steady, but by the look on his face when that guy came in, maybe not. Seemed like he wasn't expectin' to see him here tonight."

Dean comes back to the bar, looking somewhere between pain and tears, downs his beer and demands another.

"You okay?" Gabe asks as he pours.

"Fine."

"If that's 'fine' I'd hate to see 'not fine'."

"Just gimme my beer, Gabe," Dean grumbles, grabbing the full glass he hands over and taking another long drink, though not guzzling it this time.

"Something you wanna talk about?" Sam asks, though he knows getting Dean to talk about anything personal is like getting a miser to spend money on redecorating when the furniture and walls have not yet fallen apart.

"Nope." 

"Suit yourself," Sam shrugs, turning back to Gabe.

"There's obviously something going on between him and that guy," Gabe says quietly, leaning over the bar again.

"You gonna talk about him when he's sitting right here?" Sam whispers back.

"He's not hearing anything," Gabe points out, nodding at Dean's unfocused gaze on the stage. "Anyway, the guy's been back a few times, but your bro stopped coming in."

"Do you know anything about the guy?"

"Not much. He's got a voice like heaven and loves to sing. And he's hotter than a fireman's five alarm chili in the middle of a solar flare. Always comes in with a couple girls who usually sit in that booth over there," he nods toward the far right corner booth, "and play tonsil tennis all night."

"With him?"

"No, doofus, with each other. 'S pretty hot, if you like that kinda thing. Which I do," he grins, doing another eyebrow waggle.

Sam chuckles. "Ok, so, how many other guys has he taken home and have any of them stopped coming? If he's as hot as you say, I take it a lot?"

Gabe shakes his head. "None that I know of. Oh, he gets hit on, believe me; I have a front row seat since he usually sits at the bar. But most of the time, I don't think he even realizes he's being hit on, and when he does catch on he tells them politely he's not interested."

"Something you know personally, I take it? 'Cause I doubt anyone could miss your flirting no matter how oblivious. You're about as subtle as a strip-o-gram."

Gabe laughs. "Actually, I've never flirted with him."

Sam feigns over exaggerated surprise. "You? Not flirt? Is that even physically possible?"

Gabe shrugs with a grin. "Your bro got to him first. Not that I mind sharing, but, the way they looked at each other... Like I said earlier, I figured they musta started dating and Dean didn't wanna come in 'cause one of his old hook-ups might embarrass him or make the guy jealous or whatever."

As Dean looks up Gabe claps a hand over his mouth guiltily, realizing he'd accidentally used Dean's name. But Dean isn't looking at him or Sam, he's turning in his stool to glare at one of the guy's friends, the red-head, who's standing there asking to talk to him in private. Gabe and Sam exchange a look that says 'girl's got balls to be asking to speak alone with someone who looks like they want to tear her head off', and watch as Dean follows her into the bathroom hallway.

"... The fuck! Why ... hell ... bring him ... _knew_ ... be here tonight!" they hear from the hallway, not catching all the words as Dean's volume rises and falls.

After the initial outburst the conversation gets quieter and Sam and Gabe go back to talking when it sounds like Dean isn't planning outright murder.

"Well, that lends support to our theory," Gabe says.

"I thought you said you thought they'd gotten together?"

"From that shout I'd say they did, and then Dean got dumped."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Dean? Dumped? King of the one night stands? It was more likely the other way around."

"Hey, now, don't go giving away my title. I'm the king; Dean's more like a prince. In training."

"Oh, are you now?" Sam laughs.

"You laugh, but it's true. I go home with someone, or some _ones_ , new every night. Variety is the spice and all that," Gabe grins.

"Not to toot your own horn or anything, right?"

"Hey, the point of hooking up every night is so I _don't_ have to toot my own horn," Gabe smirks, sticking his tongue out in a salacious way that has Sam's jeans feeling tight again.

"And who do you plan on hooking up with tonight?"

Gabe gives Sam a pointed look, licking his lips in a predatory way that has Sam's blood heating for no reason he can name.

"Hey, I already told you straight up, I'm taken. Flirt all you want, but it's wasted on me. You might want to go ply your charms on someone you actually have a shot with," Sam says, hating the way his voice doesn't sound nearly as confident as he wants it to.

"I already am," Gabe smirks. "And as for you being taken, it's not like I'm lookin' to buy, I just wanna take a test drive. Or rather, let you take me for a test drive."

"Hey, I already know what I'm buying, why would I want to take you for a test drive?"

"You're in college aren't you? That's the time to cut loose, make mistakes, experiment."

"That's one mistake I don't need to make," Sam grins to take the sting off.

"What's wrong, afraid I'll be so good you'll switch teams?" Gabe teases.

"Can't switch teams when I don't have one. When I like someone I like them, doesn't matter what's on the outside."

"Uh-huh. And how many guys have you slept with?"

"Just because I haven't yet doesn't mean I wouldn't," Sam replies defensively.

"Yeah, except you're about to ask someone to marry you, after which you'll never fuck anyone else for the rest of your whole life. If you try it now, you'll at least be able to look back on it and know you had the experience," Gabe coaxes.

"I don't need the experience, I'm fine with Jess."

"Is it really ok to just be 'fine' with Jess when you could be phenomenal with me?"

"For one night."

"Yeah, you should at least know what you're missing, y'know?"

"The whole one night stand thing is Dean's bag, not mine. I'm more into finding someone I connect with and building a life with them," Sam states, wishing Gabe would back off a bit. It's not like Sam's going to change his mind.

"You're into finding someone to build a life with? Thought you said you'd already done that."

"Soon as she says yes, yeah."

"What if she says no?" Gabe asks, which is just the thing Sam doesn't want to think about.

"She won't," he states, trying to assure himself as much as Gabe. "I mean, you saw the ring, would you say no?"

"To the ring, or to you?"

Sam frowns, on the verge of making a reply, when Dean comes back.

Sitting down, oblivious to the serious conversation that had been going on, Dean finishes his beer and tells Gabe to get him another.

"Dean, if you don't slow down I'll be calling you a cab tonight," Gabe cautions.

"No way am I leaving Baby in your parking lot, Gabe."

"Then take it easy. I know you've got tolerance and it's just beer, but you have the look of someone wanting to get drunk."

Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're right. Switch me to coffee after this one?"

"Sure, Dean," Gabe answers, handing the beer over. "So, what were we talking about?" he asks Sam, but before he can get an answer, someone is calling him to the other end of the bar for drinks.

"Looks like you and Gabe are getting pretty chatty," Dean comments, once the bartender has moved away.

Sam shrugs. "He's... amusing. And it's just talking, since it's not like you're keeping me company."

"Sorry Sammy, I've been a bit distracted. I promise, we can get together tomorrow for lunch or dinner or whatever and be all girly and talk about our feelings," Dean teases.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Not like you're going to tell me what's really going on with you, right?"

"Just working through something. Anyway, getting back to you and Gabe-"

"What about me and Sam?" Gabe asks, returning from his work.

"Nothing," Dean says, though his glare makes it obvious he'd had something important he wanted to say.

"Let me guess. You were about to warn your little brother that I'm a wolf in sexy clothing and I go home with a different person every night and he should stay the hell away from me, or at the very least use protection when we fuck?" Gabe smirks.

"Basically, but I woulda stopped at stay the hell away from you. Period. You seem to take straight guys as personal challenge."

"Don't worry, Dean, I already told him all that. Besides, he's got his f-"

"I'm still with Jess," Sam cuts Gabe off and Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "I was planning on talking with you about her but it can wait until you're less distracted."

"Sorry, I'm really not trying to ignore you. By the way, you were great, singing," Dean adds, changing the subject.

Sam laughs. "Yeah, right. I was horrible. You were good though. Bit different than hearing you sing along with the radio in the car."

"Well, I don't have an audience in the car."

"Except me."

"Family don't count."

"Family doesn't count? Since when?"

"I meant as an audience," Dean clarifies, head perking up. "Hang on, you gotta hear this. Cas has a voice like an angel," he says, eyes fixed on the man approaching the mic nervously.

Sam gets his first look at the guy who's apparently been jerking his brother around. Gabe's colorful description didn't do him justice; he's tall as Dean, dark messy hair, beautiful face dominated by eyes so blue Sam can make out the color from here. His body looks to be in pretty good shape too. On top of that, he looks rather shy as the opening notes of 'Hotel California' by The Eagles start up. The intro's a bit long and the guy shuffles nervously, watching his feet, occasionally glancing to the screen. The song seems a bit high for his voice, but he still sings it beautifully, barely glancing at the lyrics once he's started singing. Mostly his eyes are closed, gripping the mic tightly as he sways to the music. Sam gets the impression he's avoiding looking at Dean by losing himself in the song. The guy doesn't rush off as soon as the lyrics end, like Dean had. Instead he stands there, eyes closed, swaying to the music until the last notes fade away. Then he puts the mic back and shuffles back to his booth, head down. Intending to ask what's going on between the two, Sam turns to Dean, but doesn't get the chance as the guy runs out the door and Dean jumps up and follows.

"Okay, what was that?" Sam asks, brows furrowed.

"While the guy, Cas I think Dean called him, was up singing, his friends bailed," Gabe explains. Having been focused on the singer, Sam hadn't seen the girls leave and wouldn't have known the significance if he had.

"And what, he's trying to catch them? Why?"

"I'm pretty sure they were his ride. I've never seen him here without them, and when I carded him the first time he came here he flashed me a state I.D. instead of a driver's license so I'm guessing he doesn't know how to drive," Gabe shrugs.

"So they left him here without a ride? Some friends."

"Maybe that's what Dean and red were talkin' about earlier; maybe she asked him to drive the guy home."

"I thought we came to the conclusion they were broken up?" Sam points out.

Gabe shrugs again. "Maybe red wants them to get back together? Who knows? Maybe that'd be a good thing. The way those two were when they met... heh, kinda made even me think sometimes one night just won't cut it. If they can make it work, I'm rooting for them."

"You say that like you've never before thought a one night stand wasn't enough."

Gabe shrugs. "I haven't."

"Really? That sounds pretty... lonely."

"I told you, I never go home alone," Gabe smiles.

"Doesn't mean you aren't lonely," Sam says, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"You talkin' about me, or you?" Gabe asks.

Sam doesn't answer as Dean's guy comes through the door, face expressionless, and goes back to his booth. Going to take a drink of his beer, Sam finds it empty and asks for another, which Gabe gets him. A few minutes later, Dean comes back in and sits back down.

"What was that about?" Sam asks as he reclaims his seat.

"Nothing," Dean says, pushing his half-full beer across the bar to Gabe. "Can I get that coffee now?"

"Sure," Gabe says, getting rid of the beer and putting a cup of strong black coffee in front of him.

They fall into a contemplative silence. Dean drinks his coffee. Sam drinks his beer. Gabe drinks in Sam's profile, determined to spend tonight with him and wondering how he can manage it. They'd had such a good rapport going between them all night, and then...

Just before 1:00 am, Cas gets called up for his second song, which turns out to be Simon & Garfunkle's 'The Sound of Silence'. He sings with a sorrowful tone, and Sam is surprised when he glances at his brother and sees tears staining his cheeks. Looking across the bar, he catches Gabe's eye and nods toward Dean. Eyebrows arching in surprise, Gabe shares a look with Sam and a silent agreement passes between them to not comment. Somehow teasing or poking at feelings just wouldn't be right here.

Cas comes up to the bar as the dj starts singing Seismonic's 'Closing Time' and asks for one more drink and if he can use the phone to call a cab. Gabe pours him a Dr. Pepper and sets the cordless on the bar, and Cas reaches into the inside pocket of his coat then stops, eyes widening. Hands fly quickly to pants pockets, back pockets, side pockets of the coat, then back to the inside pocket and through all the others again, distress ramping up at each check.

"Hey, no worries, on the house," Gabe says.

"I can't accept-"

"Yes you can," Gabe insists. "You've been a regular for months and I'm sure that voice of yours has kept some of these customers coming back so think of it as a thank-you for increasing our business, k?"

"Okay, thank you very much," Cas blushes, sliding the phone back across the bar to Gabe. He sits on the nearest barstool and sips his soda, not bothering to take his coat back off.

Watching Dean watch Cas, Sam wonders if they can fix whatever's wrong between them. Cas seems stiff, closed-off, and Dean looks lost on how to get through to him. His brother has never looked like this, not as far as Sam can remember. People leave, he lets them go. It's not like he has a different partner every night like Gabe; he's done callbacks, and he's had one or two steadies. But Sam's never seen him hurt over anyone like this.

"Hey, Sammy, you need a ride back to your hotel?" Dean asks, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

"Nah, I'm good; I got a rental since I'm here for a week."

"Ok, mind if I head out? I promise we can catch up properly tomorrow," Dean asks, sliding off his stool and putting his jacket on as Cas is getting up and buttoning his coat.

"Yeah, no worries," Sam smiles, hoping his concern doesn't show, "go take care of what you need to." 

"Thanks Sammy," Dean says, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes and warning under his breath, "And I mean it; watch out for Gabe. Seriously, he's a good guy, but only if you're not screwing him and he has a history of recruiting for the gay pride parade from the straight side of the fence." Sam rolls his eyes as Dean follows Cas out the door.

"What did he say?" Gabe asks once Dean's gone.

Sam shrugs. "He said you're a good guy."

Gabe laughs. "Sure he did. No, really, what did he say?"

Sam chuckles. "Ok, I think the full statement was something like 'watch out for Gabe, he's a good guy as long as you're not screwing him. And he likes straight guys.'"

"Huh. He really said I'm a good guy?"

"Of course he did. You guys are friends, right? Dean doesn't tolerate, let alone make friends with, douches. Assholes, maybe, but not douches."

"Are you calling me an asshole?" Gabe laughs.

Laughing, Sam replies, "hey, I'm saying you're not a douche. You should count that as a win."

Gabe leans his left elbow on the bar to cup his chin in his hand, middle finger of his right hand moving to trail lightly up and down Sam's forearm. "Only win that counts tonight is when you come home with me," he says, his look turning serious and smoldering for a moment. When Sam shivers, he grins, does his little eyebrow wriggle, and says "or something like that," chasing the sober mood away.

Taking a somewhat shaky breath, Sam slides his arm from under Gabe's wandering finger, covering the hand with his own instead. "Gabe, there's still an hour before the bar closes right? Go find someone to flirt with. If you're really the king of hookups, that should be plenty of time. Don't waste it talking to me."

Turning his hand under Sam's over, Gabe grasps Sam's wrist, tracing his thumb over warm skin. "I don't think time talking with you would ever be wasted. You're a fascinating man, Sam Winchester. And as far as hookups goes, for tonight it's you or no-one, even if it ruins my streak. I'll either enjoy spending the night giving you every kind of pleasure you've never known you wanted, or I'll enjoy the night thinking of how much fun I've had just talking with you."

Sam blushes. He shouldn't be letting Gabe touch him; shouldn't be giving the impression he has a shot. And he most certainly shouldn't be admitting to himself that Gabe is actually very persuasive and tempting and is definitely closer to having a shot than Sam's comfortable with. "I bet you say that to all the straight guys," he says with an attempt at levity.

"The part about promising pleasure you never knew you wanted, yeah," he grins, then covers Sam's right hand that's resting on his beer glass with his left, leaning in to murmur "but the part about spending the whole night thinking about you whether you come home with me or not; that's all yours. Hand to God, I've never said that to anyone else in my life."

Something in Gabe's tone or the intense gaze of his eyes has a part of Sam melting and he's afraid that part might be his resolve. There's no way he can go home with Gabe. Dean warned him against it, and Gabe's a man-slut, and he's an actual _man_ which isn't a problem except Sam's never been with a guy and has no experience or confidence, but none of that matters because Sam's not into one night stands, he wants someone he can build a life with. In the back of Sam's mind there's a tiny murmur, not even a voice really, just a nagging feeling that there's another reason not to let himself be persuaded, but then Gabe leans the last few inches between them to brush their lips together and Sam knows he should pull away, he should really pull away, but instead he leans further over the counter, deepening the kiss.

Several minutes later they're still kissing, not passionately, just languidly exploring, neither wanting to pull away, until someone coughs a little way down the bar and Gabe reluctantly breaks off with a husky, "sorry, be right back." His hands stay connected with Sam's as long as possible until, fingertips brushing together lightly the last point of contact, he's forced to separate completely to start filling orders for last call.

The second they're no longer touching it's like a spell breaks, Sam's earlier protests flooding back into his head all at once. He grabs his jacket and runs out the door.

Once outside, Sam's steps slow. He's shaking and wishing he'd parked a bit closer as he makes his way to the far end of the parking lot. It's a good thing his rented Charger has a remote lock on the key, because he's still shaky enough that he'd never manage to fit the key into the lock. Opening the door, he collapses into the seat, closing the door behind him then putting the seat back down. "What am I doing?" he asks the night air, large hands covering his face. Was, his mind corrects. What _was_ I doing, not what _am_ I doing. Because he's not doing whatever it was now. He can't. There are a whole host of reasons that he shouldn't need to list off again. His jeans aren't a little snug now; they're painfully tight. Unbuttoning and unzipping them relieves some of the ache. But to relieve all of the ache would require doing something he's not going to do in a parking lot that's getting busy as patrons leave the bar singly or in small groups. Instead he just lays there, hands rubbing over his face as he takes slow, deep breaths, willing himself to calm down.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but eventually the ache fades, and he's just thinking that he should start the car and go when a tap on the driver's window startles him bolt upright, hands leaving his face as he looks out and sees Gabe standing beside the car. Turning the key in the ignition enough to roll the window down, he looks at the bartender sheepishly. "I was just leaving," he says as he pulls the lever so the seat back returns to an upright position.

Gabe leans on the door to look in at Sam. "I get it. I'm sorry if I scared you in there. Umm... I'm heading home too. If you... wanted to talk about... about anything, you're welcome to follow me. Just to talk. But I understand if you don't want to."

There's something almost vulnerable in the look on Gabe's face, but he turns away before Sam can be sure he saw it. The red Corvette is still parked in the next spot, and Sam is surprised to see Gabe go around to the driver's side and get in. He pulls out and heads slowly toward the driveway. Sam starts his car and follows.

Once they're on the street, Sam stays behind the Vette, which is going five under the speed limit; he should pass. But he doesn't; he follows, mind racing without actually thinking about anything specific. They come up to a red light, and this is the street where Sam should turn left to go back to his hotel, but he's not in the left-hand turn lane. He's right behind the red sports car. As the light turns green and they take off, Sam decides he'll just make the left turn at the next light, but the next light is green and they both go through it. Same with the next, and the next, and eventually Sam realizes he was never going to turn. He follows the red in front of him (red like a stop light; he should stop), through the city, onto the freeway, past the suburbs and into a rural area, where Gabe takes the off ramp and Sam follows. Fifteen minutes later they turn onto a long gravel driveway leading up to a very large farmhouse. Judging by the style, it's at least a hundred years old; but the roof is new, the paint is fresh, the wood siding and porch in good repair, paving stones leading past well-kept flowerbeds where green shoots are just starting to peek through the dirt, all well-lit by porch and flood lights.

Sam parks behind Gabe, takes a deep, shaky breath, and gets out.

"Wow, you really did follow me home!" Gabe grins as he closes the door of the Corvette.

Refusing would be pointless, since it's true, but Sam doesn't know what response to make. His gaze settles on the beautiful sports car and he says, "Had to make sure you weren't stealing that car. How does a bartender afford a new Corvette? Or a remodel on a big old house like this?"

"Like them?" Gabe asks as he takes Sam's hand and leads him toward the house, pretending he doesn't notice Sam's flinch as their hands connect. "A bartender couldn't afford it, but an owner can," he smiles as he unlocks the door and holds it open for Sam.

"Owner?" Sam asks as he enters into the living room and looks around.

"Yep" Gabe replies, toeing his shoes off on the mat next to the door. "Technically co-owner, though I'm the one who runs it," he adds as Sam kicks off his shoes too.

"Who's the other owner?" Sam asks, following Gabe into what turns out to be the kitchen.

"Owners," Gabe says, opening the fridge, grabbing two beers, and handing one to Sam. "My older brothers and I all went in on it, but they have their own businesses and work to manage so I get to handle the bar, which is just fine by me," he continues, sitting at the kitchen table.

Sam sits next to him, angling his chair so they can see each other then twisting the cap off his beer and taking a swig. "How many brothers you have?" he asks.

"Three. There are four of us total. Mike inherited the family company; Luke wasn't too happy about that so he started up his own internet company that sells... let's just say he wanted to piss Dad off. Raph rebelled in his own way; he joined the Army. He's a second lieutenant colonel general or something ridiculous like that. And me, Gabe, who runs a den of sin, according to Mom and Dad. We're all too different to really get along, but ohana and all that," Gabe shrugs.

"Den of sin. Because you serve alcohol? Or because it's a gay bar?"

"Mainly the second. Parents are right-wing religious types. They say they're Christian, but they're always spouting off stuff from the Old Testament instead of the love and accept ideologies Jesus taught. I'm not saying I'm not religious; I am. I just think too many people use religion as an excuse to support their own beliefs, even if they have to twist their holy scriptures to do it; whether it's to say slavery is god's will or women have to be covered head to toe and not allowed to do anything but serve their men, or to say homosexuality is a sin," Gabe blinks at his beer, then twists the lid off and takes a drink. "Sorry, here you're nice enough to follow me home and I go waxing philosophical."

"Hey, man, don't apologize. Nothing wrong with speaking your mind," Sam affirms.

"Really?" Gabe asks, lips twitching into a sly smirk that Sam, who's looking around the kitchen trying to pick out which features are original and which are newly updated, doesn't notice.

"Sure. If friends can't handle what you have to say then screw 'em; they're not really friends."

"So then, it's perfectly fine for me to say how much I'd really like to strip you outta your clothes and ravage you senseless until you're screaming my name and begging for more?" Gabe says, licking his lips hungrily.

Sam's mouth opens and closes as he tries to come up with a reply. Entranced, Gabe watches Sam's mouth thinking of all the ways he could put it to use. Swallowing nervously, Sam watches Gabe watching him and thinks of all the things he could be thinking. "Like I said, nothing wrong with saying what you think. Doing what you think is a different matter," he finally manages to come up with, hoping it doesn't sound as unsure as he feels.

Reaching out slowly, Gabe brushes his fingers lightly over Sam's hand and arm that are holding his beer resting on the table, tracing up and down, feeling the small hairs on his skin start to stand up as his touch calls forth goose bumps. "Does that mean you're not interested?"

Sam swallows again, watching the fingers ghosting over his skin. He doesn't look up as he replies, "That means it's not going to happen."

"So you're not _not_ interested."

"Gabe," Sam warns.

"Sam," Gabe sighs, beer hand gesturing toward Sam's unfastened jeans and the bulge straining his underwear through the open v. 

Sam blocks the view with his hand, turning away since there's no way he can zip and button his pants right now. He forgot he'd unfastened them when he got in the car at the bar. "S- sorry," he blushes.

"Sorry for getting hard, or sorry for denying that you want me?"

"I... I should go," Sam says, taking a deep shuddery breath and looking very much like leaving is the last thing he wants to do and it'll take every ounce of his determination to do so.

With another sigh, Gabe stands, watching his fingers as they ghost up and down Sam's arm one more time. Then he walks away, taking a long pull at his beer before setting the half-empty bottle in the sink. Turning, he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry too. I said we could just talk, but I don't think I can be close to you without wanting you. If you're not going to let me help you with that raging boner, then you're probably right. You should go. Feel free to look around the house if you want first; seemed like you were interested in the renovations. But I'm going up to my room to get started on thinking about you, so you can let yourself out."

Sam watches, stunned, as Gabe walks past him and down the hall to head up the stairs. Glaring at his barely touched beer, Sam gets up and sets the bottle in the sink next to Gabe's, frowning as the bottles kiss. Another deep breath later, his feet are marching resolutely toward the door. Near the bottom of the stairs, almost to the door, that resolution falters, and from somewhere the idea pops into his head that he really should apologize again before he goes. After all, Gabe never made any pretenses about his objective. Sam's the one being ambiguous; telling him to flirt all he wants, not pulling away from his touches, letting himself be kis- no, kissing Gabe back, following him home, telling him to speak his mind. Looking at all that from Gabe's perspective, the only no he got was verbal; every non-verbal answer was yes. Yet he still told Sam he should leave if he doesn't want Gabe that way, giving him an out. At the very least, Sam definitely needs to apologize. Once he's upstairs, he hears movement behind a half-closed door and knocks lightly, door swinging open as he says, "Gabe, I'm really sor-"

Gabe is kneeling on the bed, searching the drawer of the far nightstand for something, giving Sam an eyeful of ass. Oh, and also, his clothes are on the floor. All of them. As Sam stares in shock Gabe finds what he's looking for, closing the drawer and sitting at the head of the bed, propped against pillows, tube in one hand, legs straight out in front of him and a cock as hard as Sam's (and just a tad bigger) between them. "Change your mind?" he teases, wriggling his eyebrows as he sees Sam in the doorway.

"Sorry," Sam blurts, slamming the door closed.

"It's fine. I'm covered now, you can come in," Gabe calls through the door before Sam has time to bolt.

Peeking back into the room and finding Gabe's lap hidden under tented covers, Sam opens his mouth to give the apology he'd planned, but instead steps inside, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. "My body seems to keep moving on its own," he sighs.

"If there were such a thing as demons I'd say maybe you were possessed," Gabe teases.

Pulling down the collar of his t-shirt to show off his tattoo, Sam says, "If there were such a thing as demons they wouldn't be able to possess me. Dean found this in some Book of Solomon or something; it's supposed to prevent demonic possession. We wanted to get matching tattoos and thought they looked cool, so..." Sam shrugs.

"So you believe in demons?"

"I don't not believe in demons."

"Do you believe in being honest with yourself?"

Sam sighs. "I want you. I've wanted you most of the night. I know I had reasons, good reasons, not to, but I can't seem to remember or care about them now and... I do believe in being honest with myself, and that means admitting the desire is there."

Scooting over to make room, Gabe pats the bed beside him. Nervously, Sam pulls off his shirt, blushing as he catches Gabe staring. He manages to slide off his jeans and socks, then tucks his thumbs under his underwear. Somehow he just can't bring himself to take them off though, so he sighs and slides under the covers next to Gabe, who turns and cups his cheek, running a thumb over the bone. "Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. Swallowing, Sam nods and Gabe leans in. Then their lips meet, moving gently together, each learning the shape and feel of the other man's lips, feeling the brush of stubble against stubble. Just as Sam is getting comfortable with the sensations, Gabe works his tongue past Sam's lips and then there are all new experiences to process; the feel of a strong tongue invading his mouth, thrusting in and out suggestively, deep moans being swallowed between them, at least half of which, Sam is surprised to realize, are from him. They kiss until Sam's moans fade into whimpers as the twitching, aching length in his underwear reminds him of its presence. 

Gabe breaks away, breathing hard and grinning. "So many things I want to do to you; so many ways to give you pleasure. How am I supposed to choose just one?"

Blush staining his cheeks, Sam smiles. He's normally pretty confident and doesn't blush easily, but this is all new to him. Even so, he still manages to say, "I was kind of thinking about that thing you said near the beginning of the night."

"What, drinking from the tap?" Gabe teases, wriggling his eyebrows.

Chuckling, Sam replies, "No, that thing with the... fingers, and the deep throating."

"Ah, a very good choice, monsieur," Gabe grins, mimicking a waiter at a fancy French restaurant. "Right zeis way, sil vous plait." Sam is laughing as Gabe grabs the lube and crawls over Sam and off the bed, then tugs Sam around by the legs 'til he's sitting on the very edge of the bed, somehow managing to hook the boxer-briefs and pull them off in the process. Kneeling between those long, strong legs, Gabe flips open the cap on the lube as Sam watches nervously. With a wolfish grin, he flicks his tongue over the head of Sam's straining cock then presses his tongue up the underside, giving Sam something other than fingers to concentrate on. As he swallows him down deep, but not all the way yet, Sam lets out a moan that's cut off by a sharp intake of breath when Gabe slides a slicked finger into him, just the tip at first, twisting a bit to test the stretch. He pulls off the length in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip as he looks up at Sam. "Ok so far?"

"Yeah, that's... ok. Feels a bit weird."

Gabe pushes his finger in further, sliding it in and out when Sam seems ok. He goes back to tonguing over cock, Sam's moans filling his ears, sound barely changing when a second finger joins the first. After Sam's had time to get used to the unfamiliar intrusion, Gabe pushes his fingers deeper, thrusting several times until he hits the prostate, evidenced by a surprised cry of pleasure. Grinning up at Sam, Gabe licks his lips in anticipation and says, "No hands, now. Grip the bed if you need to," and then he takes a deep breath and worships Sam's cock, opening his throat to take it deep, hum of pleasure causing vibrations and if Gabe wasn't holding his hip down firmly with his left hand Sam would be thrusting as he says, "Holy hell, Gabe, that's amazing." Gabe comes up for air, smiling at Sam as his tongue does something Sam's never even imagined, let alone felt, and then Gabe's swallowing him down again, this time thrusting his fingers further to press against the prostate with every shove. As Gabe's lips move over his shaft, fingers fucking him deep, Sam's volume rises, inarticulate sounds of pleasure filling the room as Gabe takes another deep breath, pushes Sam's cock all the way into his throat and begins to swallow around it and the next time Gabe's fingers thrust deep, Sam cries out, coming hard down Gabe's throat and shuddering as he swallows down the release. Gabe pulls off, panting, slides his fingers out, and gives Sam his wolfish smile. Looking back with an expression somewhere between amazement and reverence, Sam just stares for a few moments, then flops back onto the bed, arms wide, and stares at the ceiling.

"Holy shit, Gabe, that... how the hell did you do that?" Sam gasps.

"Practice," Gabe smirks as he gets up and heads to the bathroom. "Lots and lots of practice." When he comes back a few minutes later, hands clean and teeth brushed, Sam is still collapsed on the bed. Gabe sidles up next to him laying on his right side, elbow on the mattress above Sam's arm, head resting against his fist as he gazes down at the glassy-eyed look on Sam's face. "Did I break you?" he teases, poking Sam lightly in the side.

Giving a half-chuckle, Sam manages to turn his head enough to meet Gabe's gaze and says "Yeah, I think maybe you did. That was... wow."

Grinning as he traces a finger over the firm muscles of Sam's abdomen, Gabe says, "Wow, huh? Hmm... I was going for speechless. I'll have to do better next time."

"Next time? I thought you only do one night stands?"

"The night's not over," Gabe smirks. "How do you think you'd feel about me riding you hard and coming all over your stomach?"

Smiling, Sam rolls over to face Gabe, slides a large hand over his hip and leans in to kiss him, slow and smoldering. "I think I'm not going to say no, but I'm going to need some recovery time first."

"We've got time. I suppose you could have a minute or two of rest between fucks."

Sam laughs. "I think I'm in for a long night."

"A long, _hard_ night," Gabe corrects with a grin, then captures Sam's mouth again and doesn't let him go until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> dang I need to get laid >.< oops, did I type that out loud? hehe. so, another 19 page fic written in two days. these sequels just seem to be flowing. I probably should have posted this as a chapter fic instead of a series, but they really are meant to be stand-alone stories. except now, the sam/gabe needs at least two more follow-ups and the dean/cas needs at least one. and then possibly a time jump and conclusion fic for each pairing. and there was no Charlie/meg making out in this one since cas was sitting between them (it wasn't mentioned in either story, but they sandwiched him so he couldn't run) and even if he wasn't, sam and gabe couldn't see their booth.
> 
> still no proofreader other than myself, so as always, corrections, suggestions, and comments encouraged and appreciated :D


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